


warmth

by terpsichorean



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Inspired by Fanart, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28706157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terpsichorean/pseuds/terpsichorean
Summary: A quiet moment at sunset.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	warmth

**Author's Note:**

> saw this [gorgeous fanart](https://kayivy.tumblr.com/post/636388047761588224/ill-keep-you-warm-an-evening-in-october-after) by [kayivy](https://kayivy.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and got slammed in the face with this.

The hunt had been surprisingly easy, all things told. As soon as Geralt had heard stories of the mysterious fog that seemed to appear and disappear of its own accord, he had suspected the work of a foglet. In the end, the most difficult part had been the hike to the river where the villagers had found the bodies. A few simple Signs and a swing of his sword and the foglet’s head was his. 

By the time he was heading back to the village, the sun was starting to set. It had been a long hike there and just as long of a hike back with the bagged head bumping against his hip. Roach had been drooping lately, enough so that Geralt had decided to treat her to a night in a warm stable, something he was marginally regretting now. It was late spring, the days getting longer, the bite of winter receding from the air. But it was still there, creeping through the cloak on his back and making him wish for the warmth of the fire at the inn. 

The deer trail he was following through the trees dipped slightly as the trees thinned, running toward the bottom of a gentle rise. Geralt paused as he exited the treeline, taking a moment to admire the way the setting sun lit up the distant mountains and cast long, dark shadows from the surrounding trees. It made him think of Jaskier, waiting for him at the inn and probably halfway through a set and a pint. If he were here, he’d gasp overdramatically at the sight, going on and on about the colours and the contrasts and inevitably spout off some insipid verse or harangue Geralt into making camp here, just so he could look at it longer. 

Geralt let his gaze linger one moment longer and turned away to continue back to the village. He was barely even surprised to spot Jaskier, in the flesh, nestled on the hillside among the small white blossoms as if he’d sprouted there as certainly as his namesake. Geralt could just spot Roach in the trees behind him, blithely chewing on the same blossoms.

Jaskier hadn’t spotted him yet, clearly too absorbed in the sunset to pay attention to his surroundings. Not that he was ever that observant, unless it was for a pretty face or bauble in the market catching his unrelenting interest and dogged pursuit. Which probably explained why he was here in the first place. 

Geralt looked him over; Jaskier didn’t seem to have any bruises or cuts, so he’d avoided the worst of the hiding he’d probably come here to outrun. He didn’t even have the grace to look troubled or abashed; his face was contemplative, painted with the light of the sunset. Sunset always made his eyes a particular shade of blue that Geralt couldn’t help but find annoyingly arresting; Geralt already knew that this sunset had done the same, although he couldn’t quite see the colour from this angle. 

He sighed and deliberately stepped on the twig next to his boot. Jaskier jumped at the sudden sound, whirling toward Geralt, eyes wide and mouth already running. 

“Meletile’s tits, do you really need to sneak up on me like that? I’ll put a bell on you one day, see if I don’t.” 

“What did you do?” Geralt demanded. 

Jaskier scoffed. “Nothing, and I resent the implication! Can a man not just meet his friend on a picturesque hill-side without some ulterior motive?” 

Geralt fixed Jaskier with a hard look. It was a bit of a gamble; sometimes this look made Jaskier sigh and fold with poor grace as if Geralt had been nagging him for hours like some shrewish fishwive. Other times it just made Jaskier burst into laughter. Sometimes, if he was feeling particularly petty, he even pointed as he laughed. 

But someone must have been looking down kindly on Geralt tonight, for Jaskier simply sighed deeply, rolling his eyes up to the sky. 

“Alright, fine,” he said with poor grace, “I may or may not have run into the local headman in the village, possibly literally, who can say. And I may or may not have told him that it was no wonder he couldn’t find his way through the streets as he clearly couldn’t find his way to a proper wardrobe, either. Further comments were made, some regrettable and less than kind hearted. And it’s possible that he took offense to what was really quite an innocuous conversation and had me chased out of town.” Jaskier spoke the last few words in a rushed mumble, as if Geralt might not register them if he spoke quickly and quietly enough. 

“Possibly,” Geralt said flatly. 

“Possibly,” Jaskier replied, his faux-serious voice ruined by the laughing look he shot Geralt’s way. Completely unrepentant, the little bastard. “It’s not my fault the man lacks any sign of a personality. All the same, I thought it best I find you forthwith and explain the situation, lest you worry when you discovered me missing from our room.” 

Godammit, Geralt had been looking forward to sleeping in an actual room for once; they’d had too many nights in the wilderness lately, enough that even Geralt was feeling the lack of solid walls and a roof. 

“Will I at least still be able to get paid? Or is the entire town looking for our blood?” He asked. 

Jaskier’s grin broke out completely, mischief replacing the gravity he’d been straining to hold onto. “I can do you one better.” He reached into his little pack then held out his hand to Geralt. The sun shone off the collection lying innocently in his palm: a large signet ring, a necklace glittering with gemstones, some kind of protective amulet that made Geralt’s medallion hum, and another delicate ring of sparkling silver. 

Geralt looked at them, then back at Jaskier’s still smiling face. “It must have been some collision.” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jaskier said nonsensically with a wink, secreting the jewellry back in his bag. 

Geralt shook his head, dropping the bloody bag next to him, ignoring Jaskier’s disgusted grumbles through long experience. Unslinging his swords, he stepped next to Jaskier, shoving him lightly in the shoulder. “Move over.” 

Jaskier heaved a–frankly impressive–sigh, making a production of reluctantly shifting a scant few inches over.

“Not like there’s a whole hill-side to choose from,” he grumbled, loudly enough that Geralt knew he was meant to hear it. “Plenty of room, no need to sit directly on top of me.”

Geralt again ignored him, settling cross legged, arranging his cloak warmly around his shoulders and turning his gaze back toward the sunset. The sky above them was deepening in colour now, the sun lowering ever further over the horizon. If he stared hard enough, he could see the first stars just starting to peak out. 

“But then again,” Jaskier continued, “there’s no accounting for jealousy. I’ve always had a natural talent in choosing the most comfortable places to sit. If you know what I mean.” 

Geralt looked at him dubiously. Jaskier was looking back with that stupid look on his face, the one that he thought made him look sly and mysterious but actually just made him look like a lecherous cad and made other people want to punch him. 

“I have absolutely no idea what you mean,” Geralt said. He continued as soon as Jaskier opened his mouth. “Nor do I want to.” 

Jaskier leaned away from him, holding his hands up in surrender. “My my, someone’s grumpy. I figured you’d be pleased; the hunt seems to have gone well, judging by the-” he paused to gesture at Geralt’s clothes, barely dirtied from his trek through the forest, ”-overall state of you. Did you not find the wee beastie?”

Geralt reached to his side and pulled the foglet’s head out of the bag. Jaskier flinched away in disgust, gagging dramatically. Geralt turned to put the monster’s head away, the angle of his shoulder conveniently hiding his smile. 

“You did that just to torture me,” Jaskier complained. Geralt looked at him impassively, the smile tucked carefully away again. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said. 

Jaskier burst out laughing, shoving him in the shoulder. “Bastard.” Geralt swayed with the momentum, coming back to rest gently against Jaskier’s shoulder. 

They lapsed into silence, both of them turning as if by mutual agreement back to the sunset. Geralt found himself absorbed again, entranced by the deepening colours, the slowly spreading night, the press of Jaskier against his side. He almost startled when Jaskier nudged him, the small bottle in his hand poking Geralt’s thigh. 

Geralt looked at him for a long moment. Jaskier snorted. “Oh, what, don’t pretend you’re actually judging me. Don’t forget, I was there with you at Madelk, I’ve seen what you do with unattended wine.”

Geralt didn’t dignify that with an answer, although he did take the bottle and take a long swig. The wine was surprisingly good; Geralt wondered if this had also been liberated from the headman’s person during whatever incident had actually occurred earlier. 

They passed the bottle back and forth quietly. Geralt absently noted that the delicate silver ring was now on Jaskier’s finger, glittering in the low light. It looked good there, just as good as Jaskier’s hand loosely grasping the now-empty bottle; just as good as Jaskier’s eyes which had darkened in the fading light to a deeper shade of blue. In the quiet and the gathering dark, Geralt could admit that it was just as arresting a shade as the one he’d seen there earlier. 

Jaskier’s shoulder was still pressed against Geralt’s, so he felt the moment Jaskier started to shiver. Night was closing in and a chill was growing in the air. Geralt grabbed the edge of his cloak, leaning back a bit so he could toss it around Jaskier’s shoulders. 

As he knew he would, Jaskier took the gesture as an invitation to wriggle a bit closer. Geralt left his hand where it had fallen, curved ever so slightly against Jaskier’s back. 

“Shouldn’t we go set up camp? Roach must be missing you,” Jaskier said softly. Geralt glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, noting again the way the light painted his skin, shaded his eyes, just as he always did every sunset Jaskier was by his side.

“In a bit,” Geralt said. Jaskier nodded, settling a little deeper into his side and Geralt turned back to the sunset. 


End file.
